


A Midwinter Week's Nightmare

by passing-fanciful (kageygirl)



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Captain Swan Secret Santa, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-24
Updated: 2014-12-24
Packaged: 2018-03-03 04:55:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,927
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2838788
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kageygirl/pseuds/passing-fanciful
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's bad enough that Emma let herself get roped into being a mall elf.  Now there's a gorgeous stranger complicating her life even further.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Midwinter Week's Nightmare

**Author's Note:**

  * For [shippingship](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=shippingship).



> Written as a gift for [shippingship](http://shippingship.tumblr.com) as part of the Captain Swan Secret Santa exchange on Tumblr.

It's a minor Christmas miracle that Emma's made it across the icy parking lot without wiping out or dropping the giant box she's holding (this was seriously not her best plan ever), but now the doors to the mall are looming and she's got no hands free. She's about to attempt to jam the handicapped-access door-opener button with her butt when she hears quick footsteps and a male voice says, "Here, let me get that for you."

"Thanks," she mumbles--she's got her chin tucked over the top of the box, partly to keep control of it, mostly to keep it from shifting in her arms and breaking her nose. 

He holds the outer door open, then slips past her to get the inner door as well. Once inside, she sets the box down on the nearest bench, shaking out the cramps in her hands. "Thanks again," she says, turning to the guy--

\--who is, wow, _completely_ drop-dead gorgeous.

"Not a problem, love," he says, and, oh, there's an accent she hadn't noticed before. Great. There might as well be a giant neon signpost flashing the word "trouble" over his head. His eyes flick down, and it's then that Emma remembers exactly what she's wearing.

Mary Margaret had been the one to rent the costume, before coming down with the flu. Anyone else and Emma would have expected suspicious convenience, but not with Mary Margaret; she loves the holidays and kids and her charity work with a genuineness that still surprises Emma. But while they're close enough in size for Emma to wear the thing, their proportions are just different enough that what looked like "Santa's adorable helper" on Mary Margaret looks more like "slutty Christmas fantasy" on Emma--red velvet, flared skirt just above the knee, white faux-fur trim.

He meets her eyes again--with no shame about giving her a brief once-over, which is interesting--and raises an eyebrow. "Quite festive," he says, and looks like he's chewing on a smile.

"It's--for the Santa thing," she says, waving at the mountains of fake snow and candy canes just visible past the entrance to the food court.

"Santa is a very lucky man." Now he grins at her in earnest, and she's not quite sure whether to be amused or flattered or offended by his blatant appreciation, but he somehow pulls it off without being creepy. Then he glances down at his watch. "My apologies--I've got to be going, or I'll be late." He looks up at her through his eyelashes, and whoa, those eyes are _very_ blue. "Perhaps we'll meet again."

He nods to her, and strides away before she can decide how to respond to that. She enjoys the view for a minute, then sighs to herself and hauls the box back up to head for Santa's Village.

* * *

She ends up not actually meeting Santa himself before they open the village--too many last-minute details to cover, and they're down a few regulars, victims of the same flu that knocked Mary Margaret out. She knows David got someone to cover for him in the suit--he's been taking care of Mary Margaret, and he's such a good guy that he didn't want to risk getting a bunch of kids sick for Christmas.

Right now, she's kind of jealous of whoever's in that suit, because she can only go about three minutes without having to fight the urge to tug down her skirt. With any luck, though, she'll be be able to parlay her discomfort into more impressive donations, and frankly, Emma's done worse than wear a slightly suggestive outfit for charity. 

So she throws on a smile and maintains her post, handing out hot chocolate donated by the Pretzel Palace and keeping an eye on the wishing well-slash-donation bucket. There's a steady stream of customers--some come through just to look at the dioramas and displays of Christmas lights, and some come through after taking pictures with Santa.

During a lull in the traffic, a dark-haired boy meanders along the path, a red-haired man with an umbrella following behind him. The boy stops to study the animatronic skating penguins like he's going to be tested on them, and Emma performs some quick sleight-of-hand. When he gets close enough, Emma raises her chin at him, and says, "Hey, kid. Want some cocoa?"

The boy peers up at her in deep suspicion. "My mom told me not to take things from strangers."

She stares right back at him. "Your mom sounds pretty smart."

"She's all right," he say, and then bursts into a huge grin.

She hands Henry a cup, then smiles at his companion. "Hi, Archie."

Mary Margaret's friend and coworker smiles back. "Hi, Emma." 

She hands him a cup, too, just Henry exclaims, "Cinnamon! Cool!" Then he looks up and Emma and says, "Wait, where'd you get it?"

"Christmas secret, kid," she says (meaning that she palmed the shaker she brought with her while he was distracted). "How was your visit with Santa?"

"Good!" he says, bouncing a little on his toes. "He was cool. I have a good feeling about this year."

She has to laugh at that. "Kid, you have a good feeling about _everything_ ," she says, but really, she's just happy that he's happy. "You guys doing any Christmas shopping after this?"

" _May_ be," Henry says, which, according to her decoder ring, means he's definitely planning to get something for Emma.

"Well, good luck if you do," she says, with what _has_ to be a better straight face than her son's. She slips them each a candy cane, murmuring to Archie as she does, "Thank you, again."

"Not a problem at all," he says, bobbing his head in a nod. "He's a good kid."

"He's all right," she says, and Henry wrinkles his nose at her before throwing a quick hug around her waist, then heading off down the path.

* * *

The next morning, she's in the middle of booting up the laptop for the Santa photo volunteers (and deciding that if the music loop overhead plays "All I Want for Christmas Is You" one more time, she's not going to be responsible for her actions) when, out of the corner of her eye, she sees someone approaching the table. She puts on a polite smile as she finishes bringing up the program, and straightens, saying, "I'm sorry, we're not actually open ye--"

Her voice falters as she looks up--it's her gorgeous benefactor from yesterday, who's doing nothing but reinforcing her first impression. She realizes she's staring, and recovers with absolutely zero grace. "Hi."

"Good morning," he says brightly, and oh god, she's amused him with her patheticness--there's that devastating grin again. "I'm Killian, by the way," he says, nodding to her. "Killian Jones."

"I--didn't ask." Inside, she winces--the guy's done nothing to deserve her being brusque; it's just that giving the brush-off is kind of her default state.

He doesn't seem to mind, though; in fact, his eyebrows go up, and his grin sharpens. "No, but it seems only polite to share, since I'm not the one wearing a name tag."

"Right," she says, glancing down at the name tag in question. "Emma. Obviously." She debates for a second, then adds, "Swan."

"Lovely to meet you, Emma." He pauses, just as she did. " _Swan_." His accent wraps around her last name in a way that puts dirty thoughts in her head, and maybe the brush-off is the safer course of action after all. "It's a shame you're not open yet--I was hoping for a private tour of your winter wonderland."

She crosses her arms over her chest, narrowing her eyes at him. "Is that supposed to be a come-on? Because I've got to tell you, it needs work."

He laughs at that, a clear, rich sound. "Now I wish I'd thought of that myself, but no. _That_ is all I was referring to," he says, gesturing to the dioramas and light-wrapped trees around them. 

She fights down a smile, instead studying him coolly. "What makes you think you could get that kind of special treatment?"

He shakes his head as if in defeat, and says, with a gentle smile and a soft voice, "Sometimes, a man must live only in hope."

She takes a deep breath, reminding herself that it _is_ the Christmas season, after all--good will toward men, and all that. "If you come back in twenty, we'll be set up, and I can maybe spare a few minutes then?"

He looks genuinely disappointed. "I can't, I'm afraid. I have to be at work by then."

"Oh." She tamps down her own feelings--seriously, Emma, a pretty face is a dime a dozen. "Brooks Brothers?" she asks, looking over his outfit--the vest and button-down are too upscale for most of the places in this mall. The pants and the jacket make her add, with a smirk, "Or is it Wilson's Leather?"

"Neither," he says, and he's smiling again, his eyes shining. "Actually, I--"

"Mom!" Feet pound down the path, and Henry flies up to her, his backpack slewing to one side when he slides to a halt. "Mom, Ruby told me we're going to see Disney on Ice!"

Then he registers Killian standing there, and he looks between Emma and Killian before settling his attention on Killian. "Hi."

Good to see that eloquence runs in the family.

"Henry, this is Killian," she says, and then looks up, steeling herself for the shutdown (better to have it happen now, though, right?). "Killian, this--is my son, Henry."

Killian, to her surprise, doesn't even flinch--in fact, he smiles brightly as he looks down at Henry. "Nice to meet you, lad," Killian says, holding out his hand.

Henry shakes it and inspects Killian pretty thoroughly for an eight-year-old. "You too," he says, and then gives Emma an odd look. 

It hits her--is he worried about being replaced by a new man in her life? (Not that Killian's _in her life_ ; they've barely even met.) "Killian, he..." she starts to say to Henry, and then realizes she has no idea how to end that sentence.

"Sadly must be going, or he'll be late for work," Killian says, and gives them both a smile. "Another time, Swan?"

"Maybe," she says, shrugging.

He bows his head to her. "As I said, I shall live in hope." He then nods to Henry. "Good day, young sir."

Emma watches him walk away again, until Henry goes back to bubbling over with excitement at his early Christmas present from Ruby.

* * *

Emma hasn't decided yet whether to be grateful that they switched up the music playing overhead, because now she's developing a twitch whenever "Last Christmas" starts up. Henry comes down the wishing well path again, this time by himself, and he trades her a pretzel bite for a cup of cocoa.

"What's up, kid?" she asks, because there's a thoughtful look on his face. "You just wanted to see me, or what?"

"I didn't _just_ want to see you," he says, and he flutters his eyelashes at her, making her snort. Funny how complimentary he gets in December, when presents are on the line. He points a thumb back over his shoulder, and says, "I needed to see Santa again. I forgot to tell him something."

"Don't get greedy, or he's just going to leave you coal," she says.

"No, it's cool," he says, nodding to her. "We had a good talk."

She can't help but smile at that. "But you're doing okay, hanging with Ruby in her office?"

"Oh, yeah!" he says, lighting right up. "I've got my book," meaning the big book of holiday folklore from around the world that Mary Margaret gave him, "and she's got the good crayons, the big box with the sharpener."

After she sends him on his way, the rest of the day is uneventful. When quitting time rolls around, she runs to the employee restroom before helping to close everything down, and on the way back, spots Henry having some kind of intense conversation with the guy in the Santa suit, alone, in the deserted service corridor.

Emma's boot heels ring loudly on the tile floor as she gets right up in the guy's face, pushing Henry behind her with one hand. "What do you think you're doing with my son?"

Henry tugs on her wrist. "Mom, it's okay--"

"Henry, go see Ruby," she says, glancing down at him before turning back to the guy. "And as for you--"

Henry pulls harder on her arm. 'Mom, really, it's okay, he's--"

"Henry, _now_ ," she snaps.

He ducks away from her hand and stands next to the guy. "Mom, Killian didn't do anything, it's fine--"

She hold up a hand, and Henry stops.

There's a tiny part of her wondering when her kid stopped believing in Santa, but the rest of her is contemplating the _vanishingly small_ number of Killians in her life. And, yeah, now that she's looking past the beard and the spectacles and the lumpy fake paunch…

… those eyes are unmistakable.

"Killian," she says, caught somewhere between anger, outrage, and a tiny pocket of hysterical laughter.

He pulls off the hat, the wig, the beard, and the spectacles, and ducks his head to scratch behind his ear. "Apologies, Swan," he murmurs, and his clearly sincere contrition goes a long way to deflating her anger.

"Henry…" she says, more quietly, looking down at him, and he holds up his hands.

"I know, I know," he says. "Go see Ruby." He peers up at Emma, and says, "You're not going to hurt him, are you?"

"I haven't decided yet," she says, keeping her voice stony, and Killian's lips quirk at that.

Henry leaves her staring at Killian, who, apparently, is smart enough not to push her right now. He just gives her a steady look, without a trace of humor. "I didn't intend to keep it from you, truly, but matters got away from me at our second meeting." He looks down briefly, then back up at her. "Perhaps I was afraid you'd have no interest in a fairy tale character." 

She makes him wait her out for a moment, then says, "That's a lot of blush you're wearing."

"Aye. But you should see me in eyeliner," he replies, and she breathes out a laugh.

She realizes then how close they're standing--she's backed him into the wall. She takes a step back, running a hand through her hair and heaving a sigh. "I'm sorry I freaked, I just…"

"No apologies necessary, Swan," he says, ruffling his own hair with his fingers--it's been tamped down with sweat, it looks like, and she's suddenly not so jealous about all those layers. "You've every right to be protective of your boy." 

She takes another step back--she's too keyed up to be standing so close to him. She crosses her arms over her chest (wishing desperately that her stupid costume had pockets), and says, "So, what… did you and Henry talk about?"

He smiles, rubbing the back of his neck and glancing up at her. "As it happens, your lad inquired as to my intentions towards his mother."

"Oh, _god_ ," she says, palming her forehead. Could this _get_ any more mortifying? "I'm sorry. I think he's worried about being replaced."

He nods slowly, his expression gone serious. "As the man in your life?"

"Something--like that," she says, startled at his thoughts echoing hers. "It's just the two of us, always has been," she says, and wonders at herself, for telling this to a virtual stranger.

But Killian shakes his head, taking a step closer to her. "I wouldn't worry yourself, love," he says. "He seems to have a generous heart."

"He does," she says. She looks him over and starts to feel a little bad for keeping him--besides the sweaty hair, he's a little flushed; his cheeks are pink, and not just with make-up. "So, you were probably on your way to change, huh?"

"Aye," he says, tucking a thumb behind the buckle on his giant black vinyl belt. He pauses for a second, then sends her an incredibly cheesy grin. "Don't suppose you'd care to help a man out?"

She shakes her head and walks away, suppressing an involuntary smile of her own, because no, she just can't even deal with the flirting right now.

Even if the thought's an intriguing one.

* * *

"You can't be serious," she says, but while Ruby's smiling a little, she's also staring back at Emma, unblinking, doing that thing with her eyes that reminds Emma of a predator stalking an unsuspecting bunny.

"It's the flu that's going around," Ruby says, leaning back against her desk, her hands curled over the edge. "We're down on volunteers, so I need you on the photo corral today."

Meaning, she gets to spend all day with Santa Killian. Because that's not going to be awkward at all.

From the corner of the couch where he's curled up with his book, Henry gives her a thumbs-up, and Emma sighs in defeat.

* * *

It actually isn't all that awkward.

The worst part, it turns out, was the anticipation; she's already in the Santa section when he comes strolling up in the suit, and when he recognizes her, he pats his padded belly, and says, "I knew you couldn't resist this dashing physique, Swan." 

She scoffs, loudly. "I'm not sitting on your lap, so don't even ask," she says, but he catches the smile she can't entirely hide and sends her a wink that is far too lascivious for Santa Claus. That's when she knows this might not be the horror show she'd been dreading. 

It's Emma's job to escort the kids up to Santa and try to talk the parents into buying photos, but it's not a huge town, and they sometimes have downtime between the kids. After a little girl hops off Santa's lap to grab hold of her daddy's hand and toddle off, Emma leans over towards Killian and murmurs, "Are you doing an American accent for these kids?"

"Aye, he says, smiling under the fake beard. "You lot all seem to have taught your children to fear the English, so I've been catering to your unreasoning prejudice."

"Maybe you shouldn't have tried to own the whole world, then," she says, and he laughs at that, loud and merry.

He really is a decent Santa, but she'll never admit it.

* * *

All too soon, it feels like, the week has flown by. It's Christmas Eve, and David and Mary Margaret's Christmas party is more elaborate than ever. (Emma suspects that Mary Margaret's overcompensating for missing out on helping this year.) Henry's running around with the pack of kids that always seems to materialize at these things, and Emma…

… well, one thing Emma is _absolutely not_ doing is holding up a wall and scanning the room for Killian. After all, they've been all but joined at the hip for the past week, stuck together all day, and Emma's glad to have some time away from him.

(Even if they did make a really good team; photo sales numbers were up, crying children down, and it wasn't actually the _worst_ experience of her life.)

Which means she _absolutely doesn't_ perk up a little bit when she hears a commotion in the next room, and catches a glimpse of a Santa suit through the milling people.

And she's _absolutely not_ disappointed when she realizes that Santa's too tall; it's David over there in the suit, handing out candy canes and bundles of homemade cookies. (She loves David and Mary Margaret, she really does, but sometimes she wonders whether they're secret serial killers, or chronic jaywalkers, or _something_ , because real people aren't that-- _good_.)

"I told Dave it takes a real man to pull off that look, but he wouldn't listen." 

She twitches in surprise--he managed to sneak up on her, again--and takes a sip of eggnog to cover it, then says, "A real man, huh?" Turning her head to look at him, she adds, "Do you know any?"

"You wound me, love," he says, and flashes her a devastating grin.

He settles beside her against the wall, beer bottle in hand. She catches him giving her the once-over once more, but this time she's just in jeans and a cable-knit sweater. When he meets her eyes, she's the one raising her eyebrows at him. "Disappointed that I own real clothes?"

"Not at all," he says. He widens his eyes at her. "Though you did cut quite the figure in that dress."

She scoffs at him, but doesn't quite cover a smile. He tips his beer bottle to her, as if in a toast, his eyes smiling back at her.

* * *

At some point, they move out to the quiet of the hallway. Emma still gets a little antsy sometimes around all the holiday cheer; she feels like a stranger in a strange land, trying to learn customs she didn't grow up with. 

Killian seems a little preoccupied, and Emma bumps his shoulder with hers to take her mind off her own issues. "You okay?"

He flashes a quick smile, but it seems a little pained. "Actually, there's something I've been meaning to tell you."

"Another something?" She crosses her arms and studies him. "You're not the Easter Bunny, too, are you?"

He chuckles, low and warm. "Not that I know of."

She shrugs, deliberately casual. "Out with it, then."

"It's about Henry," he says, and she straightens up at that, turning to face him directly. "When I first met your boy, he had a very special request for Saint Nicholas." He shakes his head, a hint of humor in his eyes. "I'm breaking Santa-client privilege telling you this, just so you know."

"I promise not to rat you out," she says, and he nods his thanks. "What is it?" she asks, more quietly.

Killian looks down, then back up at her, his face serious. "He wanted his mother to be happy."

Which is absolutely the last thing she expected to hear. "Oh," she says, because she's got nothing better. 

"I'd no idea he was yours until you introduced us." He scratches behind his ear--a tell that she's picked up on--and then meets her eyes again, his expression so intent that she can't look away. "After he saw us together, he came back to ask me whether I might be the one to make her happy." 

Oh, god. Here she was, worried about Henry, when Henry was the one who'd been worried about her all along. She looks back at Killian--really, really _looks_ at him, in a way she hasn't been letting herself since the scene she made at the mall--and sees it in his face, the same tentative yearning she's been pushing away. 

Her mouth is dry, and she swallows hard, but it still comes out a little raspy. "Oh, yeah? What'd you tell him?"

He nods to her, still holding her eyes. "That I'd be honored to try, but it would be her decision whether or not I made the attempt."

She lets out the breath she's been holding, a little shaky, and takes a step closer to him. "Killian?" she says, her voice not all that steady, either. "Do me a favor?"

"Anything, love," he says quietly, and she knows, she just _knows_ , that he means it.

"Pretend that there's mistletoe," she says, and kisses him.


End file.
